


Fear the Deer Campaign

by Yeoldesoul



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Board Games, Byleth is awkward, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Golden Deer, How Do I Tag, Multi, No beta reader, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-01 17:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeoldesoul/pseuds/Yeoldesoul
Summary: Rhea starts a D&D-type club and the Golden Deer are drawn (or dragged) into the fantasy. Will any of them survive the "war," let alone finals?On hiatus while I write and edit to prevent constant mini-updates.





	1. A Destined Meeting; Or Rhea Plots Behind the Scenes

**Author's Note:**

> Basic disclaimer: This is my first fan fiction and I have zero experience with D&D (currently researching it). Things may change as I edit and learn.
> 
> I'm a little rusty, so if you notice anything that seems odd, or needs adjusting, etc., please let me know!
> 
> 08/27/19 Addition:  
Made a revision to the presentation of Overthinker Byleth. Hope you'll all enjoy the adjustment!

It started with Hilda.

Or, rather, with her bored stare as she waited for Marianne to finish stammering apologies to the bookshelves, a couch, and the rug—basically everything she stumbled into.

They were barely two days into Freshmen Orientation Week and she’d discovered a new level to her ability to tune things out or find interest in the dullest distractions—the folds of her sundress, the slight scuffs on the hardwood floor, the distinct lack of coffee in her hand—but it was more likely that she’d heard Marianne squeak “sorry” so often to just about every person and inanimate object already. Now she seemed determined to do the same to the lobby’s couches, tables, and display cases.

She hoped this skittish <strike>bird</strike> girl would relax as they got to know each other or the whole “roomie” thing was going to be a crash course in selective listening. Not that Hilda had much say in her situation if she wanted to keep her brother from installing cameras in every nook and cranny.

Thankfully, the library of the Garreg Mach University was empty this early in the morning (not to mention the semester), so the list of things Marianne could apologize to was somewhat shorter. Unfortunately, this also left Hilda with nothing and no one to distract her.

Eventually, as the whispered apologies faded, she wandered over to the community board and a glaringly <strike>gaudy</strike> ornate poster pinned above black-and-white ads for coffee, clubs, and part-time jobs.

It was a little… out of place, if she was being kind.

A dragon curled around a sword made of bone, breathing fire, with the words “Fantasy Game Club” rising from the smoke... She snapped a picture and sent it to Claude.

“Meets twice a week,” Marianne murmured, peering over Hilda’s shoulder. She fussed with her knee-length skirt and dropped her gaze to her sensible, black flats. “The first meeting is… tonight?”

“That _is_ what it says,” Hilda said, shaking her phone. “Not a design I’d have chosen though. Needs more… damsels and knights. Maybe an axe.”

She gave her phone another shake and a mild squint. Claude was usually quick to reply—overeager, really—so long as he was awake. And, boy, he had better be since they were meeting in four minutes. Maybe he was trying to herd Lorenz away from the mirror and his hair obsession again?

Or they were dead, which was also possible.

Thankfully, they were dorm neighbors rather than roommates—Hilda couldn’t imagine one of them surviving more than an hour in the same space, though the shared bathroom would be a problem eventually.

While she contemplated that sitcom in the works, Marianne shuffled backward and squeaked, bouncing back into Hilda and stepping on her unprotected toes.

“Hey!” she huffed.

Rebalancing Marianne, she turned to find a young woman behind them, a stack of books held steadily between her hands and her chin. Hilda’s back stiffened as her patented smile slipped on, just as glossy as her lipstick. “Hello!”

The newcomer nodded at them and waddled to the side, looking up at the poster. After a few seconds of silence, she returned her empty, blue gaze to Hilda. “Hello.”

“It certainly gets your attention, doesn’t it? Are you part of the club?”

After a series of slow blinks came a dull “No.”

“Right, well,” Hilda nudged Marianne to the side, hoping this uncomfortable, kind of pretty statue—was it rude to call someone that?—would move along. “It was nice to meet you.”

The statue blinked a few more times and bobbed her head. “Good luck with orientation.”

Without another word, she slipped through the doorway to the Reference Room and disappeared among a sea of dusty metal bookshelves and ancient computers. Marianne and Hilda watched her go before sharing a glance.

“Maybe she was a ghost?” Hilda offered, wriggling her toes. They felt about as solid as before, and the flawless, bright pink polish brought the curl of a genuine smile to her face. “They say there’s a lot of those on campus.”

Before Marianne could answer, Claude called out to them, waving and pointing to his phone and then to the actual poster. “We’re signing up for this, right?”

Hilda shook her head with a wry smile. “Should’ve known.”

* * *

Byleth dropped her stack of books on the back counter and clapped her hands, dust clouding around her. Rhea had asked her to move some of the old biographies from the front to the back to make room for more “interesting” pieces to attract the new students. Supposedly, the library wasn’t on the “top ten places to visit” list for a college student unless deadlines were looming.

Slotting the books into their new homes, she thought back to the two freshmen in the lobby. The one with the pink hair would probably regret her choice of wedge heels later on—Day Two had a scavenger hunt. Her hand stilled on the metal shelf.

She should go back and tell her.

Carried by this thought, Byleth made it to the border between Reference and Lobby as she considered outcomes (a habit she’d picked up from her father over the years).

** Scenario One:** The girls would not appreciate the interruption, would politely respond, and then they’d all stand there awkwardly.

** Scenario Two:** The girls would be gone.

** Scenario Three: **The girls would appreciate the thought and she’d have been social.

As impossible as it seemed, she hoped for Scenario Three. Her father had been dropping hints that he was worried about her and the lack of progress in this “friends” department. Either he was losing his understanding of subtlety, or he’d decided a firmer hand was required.

And how much worse could his assistance grow?

The scenarios Byleth imagined were too embarrassing to consider so she stepped into the lobby instead. To her surprise, the girls from earlier had been joined by a three young men as they circled the bulletin board, chattering quietly. Byleth hovered a few steps away, somehow unnoticed—not unusual—and unsure how to gracefully join in.

“You can’t be serious, Claude.”

Byleth recognized the sharp nose and asymmetrical hair of one of the men. She was pretty sure his name was Lorenz, which she’d heard uttered with the same distaste as “taxes” and “12 page paper” by the frustrated girls he’d asked to coffee, lunch, and dinner. Byleth herself had escaped his notice, but she had caught him fussing with his hair in the windows when no one was looking.

Still, a skirt chaser seemed much safer compared to the bulky guy snacking on a turkey leg behind Lorenz… which begged the question: Did the cafeteria even serve fowl at quarter past eight?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lorenz gave a dramatic sigh. “I mean, what is a ‘Fantasy Game Club,’ anyway?”

The third young man, whose messy brown curls were all Byleth could see from her place behind him, shrugged. He clapped a hand on Lorenz’s shoulder, unperturbed when the latter shifted away.

“I don’t know, but it sounds interesting. Just look at this poster, doesn’t it make you want to enroll in the knighthood?”

Before anyone else could join in—she had books to shelve and unpack, after all—Byleth cleared her throat and the gang turned to her, the wedge heel girl lifting a delicately curious eyebrow as Lorenz sniffed.

The beefy guy in the back finished off his meal, tossed the bone into the trash bin, and pulled another one out of his bag.

It was at this point she needed to say something. Unfortunately, she was now distracted by the young man with the curls—and was that a braid?—and eyes as green as the trees in the Quad, freshly woken for the spring.

She should have thought of an additional set of scenarios—it’s not like college students were _never_ awake before 10. Well, now there were five people to be social with rather than two. Maybe this was a good thing, if it’d keep her father’s concern at bay.

_“Try talking to people, kid,” _he’d said as he pushed his scrambled egg whites around the plate and poked at plain, whole wheat toast. “_They’ll surprise you. In fact, you might even find you like them!”_

_ “Or, they’ll murder and bury me in nonfiction.” _

Her quip was an unlikely scenario, admittedly. Besides, she could probably take all but the big guy or the wedge heel girl—something about that one screamed “secret powerhouse.”

After an internal eternity (which was an external ten seconds, according to the clock in the corner), she said, “It’s like a choose-your-own board game.”

Rhea had gone into more detail but she’d had been distracted by the glitchy catalogue system and a severe lack of coffee. Now she wished she’d paid more attention instead of trying to fix a computer from the Stone Age.

“Like those old books!” Mr. Green Eyes said with a wink.

He flashed a lopsided grin that made Byleth stiffen, heat creeping up the back of her neck as ice lodged in her stomach. There was something about his expression that didn’t quite mesh—she wondered if he realized that.

This, she would later learn, was the Duke of Trouble, Claude von Riegan.

* * *

“She’s only made one friend since we’ve been here,” Jeralt muttered into the phone and flipped through neatly arranged folders. “I don’t even know if that—er, if _you_ count.”

His daughter, Byleth, had redone the organizational system a week ago but he still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Dropping the papers and scratching at his beard, he wondered if he should just admit that he’d also lost the cheat sheet she’d left.

“I’m starting to get worried.”

“Jeralt,” Rhea sighed, her exasperation scratching at his ear, “I understand your concerns, but I assure you, I have things under control. Now, I will be seeing you and Byleth tonight—no complaints or excuses.”

Gritting his teeth, he wondered if it was wise to let Rhea help with this particular problem. Their history alone proved she was not a model for building sturdy, lasting friendships—or relationships of any kind, for that matter.

Still, this was his kid and he wanted her to be happy. Living eternally in awkward isolation probably wouldn’t help her much unless some crazed apocalypse wiped out humanity… which she might actually enjoy, if his doubts about Rhea were right.

Jeralt bit back a groan and picked up the papers and shoved them back into the folder he hoped they’d come from. This felt like making a deal with the devil.

“Fine.”

“Excellent. Oh, and, Jeralt?” Rhea said with a disturbing amount of glee that oozed out of the phone. “Don’t forget the pizza.”


	2. It’s There, if you Squint; Or the Start of Something Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Claude and the others stumped by a play on words, who will save him from a spur of the moment wager with Hilda?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this will probably be edited later (and then another twelve times). I've also made a few edits to Chapter One, particularly Byleth's internal monologues for the sake of clarity.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Yes, we’ll meet for drinks soon,” Rhea hummed into her phone, running her hand over a stack of folders held together by a fading, braided band. She fingered the yarn and her polite smile dimmed. “Tomorrow will suffice, if you can get a hold of them.”

Catherine laughed, oblivious to the change in mood. Rhea could imagine her throwing back her head, drawing the eyes of the others in her office with her mirth. “For you, Rhea? I could have them in an hour.”

Releasing the band, Rhea moved to her window, watching Byleth set off on another errand. Dark green locks swayed this way and that, untamed and uneven. If not for the cell phone in her hand, Rhea could have pictured another young woman setting off on an adventure.

But they were not the same, and time had not been kind.

Leaving her memories behind, she returned her attention to Catherine, a well-practiced smile gracing her lips. “Ah, but then it would be too early for drinks.”

* * *

“Though many think I’m sleeping like the rest, I’ve learned to stand apart,” Claude muttered, holding the Scavenger Hunt list up to the light. “Look close and I’ll leave you surprised.”

Squinting, he checked the paper for invisible ink but didn’t find anything. Maybe the hint was written in code? That might have been overkill, though, and the guides hadn’t given out a cipher. Claude almost wished they had; it’d have made it more fun.

As it was, his group had dutifully tromped across campus beneath the blazing sun to snap photos standing next to “important” buildings, sweaty staff members, and one very dangerous gazebo. Lucky for all involved, the bees were more interested in Lorenz’ hair gel than the rest of them or they’d have added the infirmary to their list.

After a very unfruitful hour, they’d decided to split up to cover more ground. Hilda had groaned at the idea—solving the last clue would only net them a bonus at tomorrow’s event—but Claude had offered to buy dessert later if she figured it out first. Given her tastes, he needed to pull himself together—and fast.

He reread the clue, collapsing onto the bench. Hot concrete burned his arms, heat soaking through his clothes as he shook the list, squinting and glaring at it.

“The last one is… difficult.”

Claude jerked, nearly ripping the list in half.

The woman from the library stared at him, looking too cool under the scorching sun. Her t-shirt had been tied to the side to reveal her midriff, which also accentuated the shortness of her shorts. As if concerned about exposed skin, she’d chosen a pair of lacey tights, though they probably didn’t accomplish what she’d intended. The only sensible things about her seemed to be her tennis shoes and calm eyes—even her hair was all over the place, cut in half-hearted, uneven layers.

“May I see it?” she asked, holding out a hand.

“Is it really fair for you to help?” He handed the list over with a wink, pointing to the ID badge clipped onto her pocket. “The rest of the staff won’t shun you?”

“Junior,” she hummed as she ran a finger down the list.

Claude’s eyes narrowed, puzzled and mildly uncertain how to respond. Was this an attempt to be snarky? But she _had_ offered to help him with the Scavenger Hunt, so that probably wasn’t it. Then the only other option was…

“Wait, you’re a _student_?”

“Yes,” she said, handing him back the list. “I can show you where to go; doubt directions would work.”

He scrambled to his feet and ran a hand through his damp hair. If Hilda complained, this didn’t count as cheating, not really. He would be starting a new investigation, tailing the enigma he’d considered out of reach a few hours before.

Dipping into a bow, he grinned. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Byleth didn’t have to say much as they traveled the cobbled sidewalks around the dorms and the science building. Claude made quick comments about architecture here, a rumor he’d heard there, and an eventual introduction (which seemed to have been an afterthought). Despite the occasional “who is that?” or “why is that boarded up?” he didn’t complain or pry if she said she didn’t know.

After a few minutes, they reached the very back of campus and Claude’s eyes widened at the sweeping wave of tombstones guarded by a wrought iron fence. It was here that the old cemetery marked the edge of Garreg Mach University before giving way to dense woods.

“Not what I was expecting,” he said, covering his eyes to survey the way it stretched across flat fields and curled around hills much like she had, when she’d first seen it.

“Historic landmark, so they can’t do anything with it.”

She pointed up the hill to their right, which overlooked the cemetery. Perched at the very top was Claude’s Holy Grail: an ancient tree that grew sideways, rather than up. Sparse green leaves stretched languidly from a lucky few branches. At first glance, it really did look more dead than alive.

Claude grinned and folded his hands behind his head. “Ah, _leave_ me surprised indeed.”

She followed him over to the tree, watching as he snapped a selfie with his phone. He waved for her to join him, smile widening as she tilted her head. Undeterred by her deadpan expression, he reached over and took her wrist, guiding her next to him.

“Can you scoot in?” he asked, trying to get them both into the frame. Once she’d shifted closer, he took the picture. “Perfect.”

Satisfied, he leaned back, sending a cheery text to “Hilda” with the photo—the one of just him, not the one with both of them. When her reply arrived in the form of a shrugging emoji, his grin widened.

“You’ve saved me,” he said, turning to her with bright eyes. “However will I repay you? With Dinner? Or tea? Coffee even, if that’s your poison.”

“There’s pizza for the Fantasy Game Club,” she offered after a beat.

Her father had called earlier, announcing he’d deliver several boxes at Rhea’s request. Given his “being strangled by a cat” tone, Byleth was fairly certain the “request” was more threat then he’d admit. After pointed comments about joining a club (from both Rhea and her father), she’d was also fairly certain that the choice had already been made for her.

“What college student turns down free pizza? Consider it a date.”


End file.
